A Letter to Our Bodies — Yours & Mine

Dear You,

There are parts of you that have stood guard over your body for years—watching, bracing, tightening against every shift, every softening, every unfamiliar curve or pain that felt more like loss than evolution.

I know these parts well.

They are the ones who hesitate before the mirror, scanning for the version of yourself you once knew. The ones who flinch at the way fabric clings differently than it used to, who brace against the touch of another as if love itself might recoil. The ones who whisper that safety is in sameness, that desirability is earned, that to be wanted—to be kept—you must be unchanged by time.

But love—the kind that roots deep, the kind that does not waver—is not reserved for the untouched. It does not flee from a body that shifts. It does not abandon the softness, the weight, the places that have been carved by time and living. You have been the one to do that. And here is what I know to be true:

You are waiting to be madly loved.

Not in a careful, measured way. Not in a dismissive way. Not in a ‘lay there and just get it over with kind of way.’ Not with conditions or expectations. Not by someone who only sees you when the lights are dim.

No—you are waiting for the kind of love that sees you fully, takes you in whole, reveres every scar and curve in the morning light. The kind of love that aches for you exactly as you are, that drinks you in without hesitation. The kind that would never ask you to shrink, to tighten, to become something easier to hold.

And the love you are waiting for—the one who can give that to you completely—is already looking back at you in the mirror.

So to the parts of you that resist, that brace, that hold on to what once was—I do not ask you to surrender. I do not ask you to believe me yet either. I only ask that you stay.

Stay in this body long enough to see what lives beneath the resistance.

Stay long enough to feel the longing that has been buried beneath self-doubt and discipline. The longing to be wanted as you are. To be touched, held, worshiped—not despite the changes, but through them.

Stay long enough to let your hands become the first ones that trace this skin with reverence. Long enough to let your own eyes soften at the sight of yourself.

And when you do—look closer.

These lines, these curves, these places you have wished away? They are not evidence of loss. They are the sacred roadmap of your becoming.

Your courage embodied.

Every stretch, every scar, every inch of softness is proof that you have lived. That you have survived what tried to break you or shape you. That you have carried love, sorrow, pleasure, ache, hunger, and hope in equal measure.

This body—your body—is not something to fix. Not something to apologize for. Not something that has betrayed you.

It is your living, breathing invitation to return to yourself.

And when you dare to meet yourself there—to truly meet yourself—you will see:

You have been worthy of mad love all along.

The only one you’ve been waiting on to give it fully is you.

With you in this practice,

Practice Postscript

The Reflection:

What would shift if you believed that the love you ache for is not waiting in someone else’s hands—but already in your own?

The Everyday Practice:

This evening, stand before the mirror. Let yourself be seen. Let your hands trace the places you have ignored or hidden. Whisper something to your body that you have longed to hear from another.

Living in the Question:

What if I already belonged to myself completely? How would I move, touch, and claim this body if I knew—without question—that I was worthy of being madly loved, exactly as I am?